


Nyctophilia

by littlerumbird



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern Era, Non-magical AU, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerumbird/pseuds/littlerumbird
Summary: Arabelle French is a reclusive artist making a name for herself by pioneering a modern twist on tenebrism. RJ Gold is an art collector whose collection is a riot of color and style. At an installation, he’s mesmerized by the shades of dark in French’s work and purchases the piece, which was only meant to be displayed. She was only looking to reclaim the piece, he’s fascinated by her shadows. She agrees to meet in the coffee shop below her studio and take a chance on people again.





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t so much that the phone’s ringing startled her, but it was more that Arabelle French never received phone calls. Or rarely received them. In retrospect, she wasn’t sure how she heard its ringing over the thrum of Rolling in the Deep. And she was certain that no news that needed to come via phone could be good news.

Even if she had tried, she couldn’t have located it before it went to voicemail. In the time it took her to wipe the smear of paint that didn’t belong where the brush trailed it when the call came, she could not have managed to located her cellphone.

So she took her time in scraping away the unwelcome smear. And she carefully set her brush to the side. Hands, now smeared the flecked with grays and whites and blacks, were methodically cleaned. And the radio was blaring the bridge of a wholly different song by the time she could even begin to search for her cellphone among paint bottles and a half eaten sandwich that she’d made for herself when she woke around noon that day.

Stretching a bit as she searched, she knew she would be taking a yoga break soon. As usual, she had utterly lost track of time and now it must be near most people’s supper time. It was best to take a step back from her latest painting anyway, to clear her head before attempting to get back into flow again.

Phone.

She finally found it under the newspaper from two days ago. Shockingly, the battery hadn’t died since she had last used it. The message light blinked like it was flashing her the middle finger. With a sigh, she dialed voicemail and leaned against the trestled workstation, staring unseeing out the large windows over the city rooftops.

“…so truly sorry, there was a mix up with the installation, and I’m extremely sorry to say it was sold…”

The words didn’t sink in, and it took her two more listens through to comprehend the meaning. Her biggest work, her favorite. The one that meant so much she hadn’t wanted to allow it displayed in the first place until she’d realized she needed the final piece to round out the display. Despite the explicit understanding and the contract clearly stating otherwise, it had been sold.

She shivered, eyes darting automatically to the blank spot on the wall where it was previously displayed for her only. It had been foolish to lend it out. There wouldn’t be a next time. The curse she wanted to shout was stuck in her throat, and she dropped the phone and hurried to her laptop, hoping she might somehow sort this out. She’d put too much of herself on the canvas, and her stomach lurched at the thought of it out there, possibly gone forever.


	2. Chapter 2

It was well into the afternoon when RJ Gold finally pulled himself out of his bed and into a hot shower. The installation at the gallery the night before had been worth it, but he was feeling his age today. And his drinking limit. The steam helped, as did a truly disgusting but nevertheless useful cure from his college days. It didn’t take him long to put together a cleanse smoothie that would dissipate the last of the after-effects of the night before.

Meal in hand, he sipped as he wandered through his penthouse. Riots of color beckoned from every wall, vivid hues in a range of styles greeted him as he wandered through his personal collection. It was bold and electric and made him feel a sense of vitality whether passing by the paintings or stopping to really take one in.

Taking another drink of his smoothie, RJ turned to the room he had transformed into his personal office and paused before the newest acquisition he’d left on his desk the night before. It was going over the fireplace in this room, though he’d hardly been in any shape to properly hang it the night before.

It wasn’t his style. And he couldn’t stop staring at it. Admittedly, he’d wondered idly if he would feel the same about it today. If perhaps he’d been hasty in purchasing it. Maybe it had been the champagne or the atmosphere or the high after a surprisingly pleasant visit from his son. Tearing his eyes from it for a moment, RJ crossed to the windows and let in the late afternoon light, blinking a little in surprise at how very sunny the day turned.

No, there was no mistake. The light and dark melded into thousands of hidden pockets of greys. Not a single bright or deep hue beyond black, white, and grey, but he couldn’t seem to get enough of it. Mysterious and powerful. At first look it appeared to be a woman, perhaps a self-portrait or perhaps nothing of the sort. He hadn’t seen the artist at the gallery and had heard she didn’t make appearances. She was as shrouded in mystery as the center of the painting, near what appeared to be the nose of the woman, which was in contrast, black with white.

The meanings piled and curled around each other, and he wished he could have spoken to the artist herself. Paint was sculpted across the canvas, giving it dimension and also further secrecy. His fingers hovered just above the surface, ghosting across the scrapes from a spackling knife. Such power and precision in the strokes. Passion lurked below the layers. He needed to know more.


End file.
